POSTING #130

A Community Divided by a Surveyor's Boo-Boo

In my first few months at Queen's University---while I was trying to get my head around political science concepts such as 'the state', 'the government', 'the administration'---my yellow-jacketed friends in engineering were out surveying the campus. Taking turns squinting through a level or holding the range pole, they recorded the results in sturdy notebooks.

The tools used by the student surveyors were not too dissimilar from those used by the men who marked out property lines and boundaries during the settlement of Canada and the US.

Pushing through forests, swamps and over and around mountains, fighting off mosquitoes, deer flies and malaria, the unsung heroes---like bush pilots from a later era---did their jobs without fanfare. And made it possible for  our ancestors to buy and sell land, confident that their ownership meant something.

Heroes, yes, but sometimes they goofed.

As in trying to follow the 45th parallel in drawing the boundary between Quebec and Vermont.

It was the summer of 1964 and  I was having lunch in a restaurant in Rock Island, Quebec, part of a community that would have been totally in Canada except for an error by some 18th century surveyor.  I can see him in my mind's eye, swatting at mosquitoes, sweating because of a recurrence of malaria, trying to figure out just where the 45th parallel should lie. He took a stab at it, but his line went a little too far north.

A simple mistake, but a mistake that meant that a single community would be split by an international border and the community would be divided into two towns, Rock Island, Quebec ---known now, thanks to amalgamations, as Stanstead---and Derby Line, Vermont.  (The current size of the community is about 3,800 with about 3,000 in Stanstead and 800 in Derby Line.)

In 1964, I had just returned from a posting in the United Kingdom, and was on a cross-Canada re-familiarization tour with three other Foreign Service Officers.  The tour was to give us up-to-date information on jobs for potential immigrants and opportunities for entrepreneurs interested in starting businesses in Canada. After the tour we would be returning overseas.

Led by our guide, the Officer-in-Charge of the Rock Island Immigration Office, we had spent the morning talking to the Chamber of Commerce and touring local plants and businesses. As we drove along placid, tree-lined streets to our meetings, our guide would explain that we had just left Canada and were now in the US, then a moment or so later that we were now back in Canada, and on and on as we crossed back and forth over the invisible border.

Note how the US/Canada Border runs into the Haskell Library and Opera Hall in the background

During our morning drive we saw an imposing brick and stone building that seemed to be sitting right on the border. Our guide told us it was a library and opera house, and he promised to tell us its story at lunchtime. 

We were satisfied with the economic and business information we had collected, but we were full of questions about how a single, small community functions when it is split by the US-Canada border into two towns.

As we ate lunch, the Officer-in-Charge explained that the Webster-Ashburton Treaty of 1842, instead of correcting the 18th century surveyor's mistake, had simply confirmed it. The locals had been living with that decision ever since.

As promised, he told us about the Haskell Free Library and Opera House. Built in 1904, the structure was a gift from a bi-national couple, an American, Carlos Haskell, and his Canadian wife, Martha Stewart Haskell. They insisted that the library and opera house should be built right on the border so that people from both sides could use it freely. Our guide said there was a line on the floor in the library marking the border that patrons went back and forth across as they sought out books. In the Opera House, actors on the stage were in Canada, while most of the audience sat in the US.

Our guide introduced us to some men at the next table who lived on the US side of the border, a few streets from his home. We told the men how much we were enjoying our visit to their community.

Back at our table, we started discussing the latest news from Ottawa. The House of Commons was debating the adoption of a new flag, and the Leader of the Opposition, John Diefenbaker, was threatening to filibuster if necessary to prevent the passage of legislation for the new flag. (The Government of Lester Pearson eventually had to invoke closure, in December 1964, to bring the flag legislation to a vote. The legislation was approved and the Maple Leaf flag was flown for the first time on Parliament Hill on February 15, 1965---and raised on Canada House in London at the same time, one of my proudest moments, but that's another story.)

I eavesdropped on the Americans at the next table, and found they were discussing the Vietnam War and what was happening in Congress. A friend of theirs had received a draft notice and they were soberly discussing what it meant.

I recalled a story a Canadian friend in London had told me just before I had come back to Canada. His son was attending an American high school in London and one of his pals, a young American, received a draft notice when he turned 18. He flew home to the US, joined the army, went to Vietnam and was back at the London school within a year---minus one of his hands that had been left in a Vietnam jungle following a grenade attack.

I thought about how bizarre all this was.

People living a few feet north of an invisible line were looking to Ottawa and a debate going on in Parliament about a new flag, while people living a few feet to the south were looking to Washington and the possibility and danger of being shipped off to a deadly war.

After lunch the Officer-in-Charge took us on a sightseeing tour of the two towns. He explained that there was a volunteer fire department that protected both towns with fire fighters from each side. People from both towns shared churches, sports teams and service clubs. In most senses, it was one community but the line was always there. Living north of the line, you were Canadian, south of the line you were American.

He told us that there was a factory that straddled the line, with goods being manufactured moving back and forth across the border. The local customs and immigration officials had found a modus vivendi that allowed the business to function.

We stopped for a quick tour of the library and the exquisite opera house. (If you have time, I would suggest you come back after reading the Posting and check out these websites, especially the one for the opera house, with its murals and gilded decoration.)

Getting back in the car, our guide said there were a number of homes that were located right on top of the border, with the food being cooked in the US kitchen and served in the Canadian dining room.

As we drove along, he pointed to a modest bungalow on a well-maintained lot that had just been built by a friend, an officer with the US Immigration Service. His friend  had looked for a long time to find a lot where he could built the dream house that he and his wife had been designing in their minds.

Being a US Immigration Officer, he wanted to make sure the lot was totally in the US.

He found a lot that he and his wife liked, and then hired a highly recommended surveyor. After careful calculations, the surveyor assured him that the lot was completely in the US.

The house was built and the Immigration Officer and his wife moved in and were delighted with it.

Then a problem emerged to threaten their happiness. A neighbour, who wanted to sell his house, was required by the buyer's bank to have a survey completed of his property. 

The survey done for the neighbour showed that although his property was fine, the US Immigration officer's house was right on top of the border, with the living room in Canada and the kitchen in the US.

Repeat surveys confirmed that the Immigration Officer's house was indeed on the border.

I suppose there could be a lot of explanations for the surveyor's error, but I like to think that the ghost of that 18th century surveyor was behind it. He gave a little tilt to the surveyor's level, or pushed the surveyor's fingers into writing down the wrong coordinates. Then the ghost giggled, "That will teach you to make fun of the mistake I made 'way back in the 18th century!"

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I have a long list of things on my 'bucket list'---things I want to do before I kick the bucket---and high on that list is a return visit to Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line.

I love libraries and would enjoy spending some time browsing in the Haskell Free Library, while Pat went, perhaps, antiquing.

Then in the evening, Pat and I could go to the Opera House and see a play (I note that all the proceeds for this September 15th performance of a comedy, "Nunsense', were donated to the victims of Hurricane Irene), or listen to the Vermont Symphony Orchestra.

And, I would love to wander around and see how 9/11 has changed life in the two towns.

A news item from around 2007 said that Homeland Security wanted to block off all the streets that crossed the border to prevent terrorists from entering the US. According to the item, officials of the two towns were meeting with Homeland Security to try to come up with ways of accomplishing that goal without destroying the closeness of their community. I haven't heard what happened.

Here is a notice from Haskell Library and Opera website that gives some hints on the modus vivendi that the community and Homeland Security may have arrived at:

"Attention!
First time visitors and old friends of the Haskell Free Library and Opera House must be aware that the border between Canada and the United States that runs through our building is real and it is enforced.

Visitors from Canada must park their cars on the Church Street side of the building or report to US Customs via Cordeau St. and Dufferin/Main St. Visitors from the United States must park in our parking lot, on Caswell Ave. or another Derby Line street.

It is expected that all visitors will return to their country of origin. Law enforcement authorities have recently increased their presence in the vicinity of the Haskell and visitors found to be in violation of border crossing rules are subject to detention and potential fines."

I think I can hear the ghost of that 18th century surveyor chuckling, "I fouled things up real good, didn't I?"

But rules like that won't stop me from going back to Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line.

I'm just waiting for that wish to come to the top of my 'bucket list'.

P.S.

On reading the above, Pat was full of questions about how everyday life unfolds in a divided community like Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line. For example, she said, what if we lived in a Canadian house, and I was baking something that called for milk but we were out. Could I go across the lawn to our neighbour whose house happened to be in the US and get the milk? If I went into her house, would I be guilty of illegally entering the US? If she gave me the milk (remember, Vermonters are very kind people!), and I brought it into our house, would I be guilty of importing a dairy product into Canada?

The questions are many but we couldn't come up with any answers.

More reason to make an early visit to Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line and hopefully find some answers!

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See you on November 27th for Posting #131 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot